


He Sells Sanctuary

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [3]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lancelot takes the first faltering steps away from his father - and Arthur feels responsible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Sells Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> Part three in my Sword series. I am posting these in the order I wrote them; this one is a bit different in that this version is a rewrite of the original He Sells Sanctuary. I like this writing better, but this is where it fits in the original order I wrote it in.

Arthur lowered his gun and holstered it, moving out of the way so the next student could have a step up to the range.

Excalibur felt good in his hand; he kept one palm resting on the holstered gun as he leaned against the wall behind the little boxes where the trainees stood to fire at their paper targets. He smiled to himself, but snapped to attention as the loud voice of the particularly scary gunnery captain rang through the range.

“Castus.”

Arthur stood up straighter and took his hand off the gun at his side. “Sir.”

The short man stopped in front of him, and eyed him like a hawk might eye a worm. “You’re probably the best shot I’ve seen in this group of clowns,” he indicated the other academy students with a jerk of his square chin, “so I want you practicing extra. Weekends, too, when you’re not studying.”

“Sir. Thank you, sir,” Arthur replied, surprised and a tad relieved the other man wasn’t going to reprimand him for something. Captain Hartigan did not compliment his students. He felt a smile coming on and suppressed it.

“Don’t just stand there gawping at me, boy,” Hartigan spat. He clapped Arthur on the shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Hit the showers.” He turned on his heel and went back inside his office, grumbling about the state of marksmanship in this day and age.

Arthur allowed the smile to surface once the captain was gone, and almost floated over the tile on his way to the showers.

Now _that_ was the right way to start a weekend.

*

It was dark by the time he hopped the Metrorail back home, and his head was swimming with stats and numbers and so many figures Arthur knew if he had to do anything besides sleep the consequences wouldn’t be pretty.

Thus, he didn’t feel once iota of remorse about the loud groan he released when he opened the door to his loft and the screaming bass of his new stereo came pounding out at him, shaking his fillings and his chest.

“Fuck,” he sighed, and shut the door behind him, all thoughts of relaxing fleeing his mind like quickly burning paper.

“Arthur! There you are,” Gwen rounded the corner, her face perfectly made up and her clothing immaculate. She smiled brightly at him, and Arthur couldn’t help a drop of his head as he realized just how dirty and sweaty he was.

“Don’t touch me, I’m not cl-” was all he got out before she attached herself to him, her long arms winding around his neck and her gloss-slicked lips pressing to his tightly.

“How are you, darling? You look half dead,” Gwen commented as she released him, hooking her arm through his, dragging him into the living room. She fished his laptop bag out of his hand, and dropped the computer on the floor next to the couch with a wince inducing crash. Arthur bit his lip and looked at the bag, but it had plenty of padding so he didn’t worry about it for too long.

“I am half dead,” he answered her, trying to smile, but didn’t quite get there. “Glad to know someone else sees it.” He flopped onto the couch, but stood again as she pouted at him and dragged him by the hand toward the kitchen, where he could hear cursing and banging, followed by unintelligible noises and one shout of “damn it!”

Gwen laughed prettily as they entered the kitchen. “Don’t be stupid, sweetie. You’re as gorgeous as always, even with those…clothes on.” She touched his polo shirt like it would bite her if she lingered too long.

He cocked a wry eyebrow at her, tolerating her personality despite the acid words, because he loved her – and because of the person whose ass was currently sticking up in the air as its owner was rooting for something in a cabinet.

“Sorry,” he answered, somewhat distracted by said ass. “I didn’t realize I’d have guests.”

“You should have never given me a key,” Lancelot snorted as he finally sat back on his haunches, holding something aloft. “Yay. Finally.” He stood and moved to the sink, running the water as he began to wash the stainless steel drink mixer he’d recovered.

“How’d that get down there in the first place?” Arthur asked, rubbing his temples, his back hitting the counter as Gwen shoved past him.

“Give me that, idiot,” she told her brother. “You don’t know how to mix a cd, much less a drink.”

Lance turned and Arthur got his first full look at the other man. Despite his exhaustion he smiled broadly; one thing Lance _could_ do was argue with his sister.

And look really good in tasteful clothing, which he was currently doing.

Lance caught Arthur’s eyes and grinned back with a wicked gleam in his eyes, mouthing something at Arthur that looked like _hi, love,_ but then he focused back on Gwen, and began bickering with her in earnest.

After a moment of watching the verbal tennis match, Arthur sighed and returned to his previous goal, which had been his comfortable new couch. He sagged onto it, and lay down as he tried to tune out Guinevere’s nasty words as she and Lance took turns with the cocktail mixer.

He cracked his eyes open a bit later to see Gwen sitting in one his chairs, chatting on the phone to some friend, going on about their plans for the evening. She didn’t notice Arthur watching her, and he heard bits of her conversation, which included ‘brother doesn’t know what he has,’ and ‘you should see him in those trousers. Hot as hell. The academy workout is definitely worth it.’ Arthur hoped to God she wasn’t talking about him, but he had a bad feeling she was.

He sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face, and Gwen’s eyes snapped to him. She smiled brightly and kept on talking. 

Arthur made his way on sore feet to the staircase, and stumped up it to his bedroom, the two large Japanese style screens that kept people from being able to see into it from downstairs a welcome divider from the distraction that was Lancelot and his sister.

And their constant fighting.

And their family. The Benoits.

“Ah, fuck,” Arthur cursed softly, and kicked his boots off after untying them, the heavy things thunking onto the wooden floor. He ripped his shirt over his head and flopped onto the bed, exhaustion overwhelming him.

He lay still for a bit, thinking over his day, and the past couple of months.

The academy program was going well, but more slowly than he would have anticipated. It was somewhat frustrating, but he knew that it would be worth it in the end. His father had told him it was a long process, but hadn’t told him just how long – and how sometimes tedious.

Arthur looked to his dresser, and to where the oiled wooden box sat quietly, it’s contents more precious to him that most anything else in his life.

Save one thing – and that one thing, he realized, had distracted him so much that he’d left his bag with his gun in it downstairs.

Arthur’s father had jokingly called his gun Excalibur, telling Arthur since the men in the family were named after legends, the weapon should have a legendary name too.

Arthur had laughed at the time, but as an adult, he thought it only appropriate for the gun to have such a name after all the things Captain Uther Castus had accomplished.

Groaning, he sat back up and began to rise, his intention to go downstairs and retrieve his bag before Gwen did something to it, like chuck it in the closet or hide it in a cupboard. She probably thought it didn’t match the décor.

“Here,” Lance’s voice came to him through his tired, fog coated mind, and he looked at the other man as Lance held out the bag.

“Bless you,” Arthur smiled, and took the bag, reseating himself on the bed. He removed the gun and after checking one more time that it was clean, unloaded, and the clip was in its holder, he put the whole set up away in the wood box.

Shutting it, he turned and leaned against his dresser, and the corner of his mouth rose at Lancelot, who was staring at him.

“You look exhausted,” the other man commented, and his smile was tight as Arthur moved back to his bed. He sat and raised his knees, his arms going around them and his back resting on the wall behind his bed.

“I am,” Arthur answered. “But good exhausted.” He patted the bed and Lance crawled up next to him. He was wearing his nice clothing still, but had removed his shoes.

Lance curled up against Arthur’s side, and Arthur slung an arm around him, Lance’s hair brushing the edge of his nose. Arthur took a deep breath, and pressed his mouth to Lance’s brow. Lance sighed and lay his slender hand on Arthur’s belly. Arthur canted his eyes downward to that hand, knowing that looks could definitely be deceiving, especially in Lancelot’s case.

Arthur had seen that hand hit and draw blood and almost break in fury.

Lance was intoxicating to watch – and so dangerous to be involved with. For Arthur most assuredly.

Lancelot’s family could have Arthur erased from the earth any second they wanted to – and there was nothing Arthur could do or say about it. He had tried many times throughout his life and association with Lancelot, his sister Guinevere, and the Benoit family to pull away, to distance himself from them.

But each time he tried, the separation only lasted a short time before he came crawling back, his addiction – it could only be called that – to them and to Lancelot one that couldn’t be broken. He loved the other man like he loved breathing air. He just couldn’t stay away, no matter how much it broke him to watch Lance show signs of behavior that emulated Roland’s.

And then, Arthur had followed in his father’s footsteps, and the head of the Benoit clan decided he didn’t want his son and daughter to be seen with a cop. No matter whose son he was – Arthur thought Roland cared more about the fact that Arthur himself was a police officer now, and not so much about the fact that he was Uther Castus’ son.

He also didn’t think Lance had been exactly truthful in describing his and Arthur’s relationship to Roland, even after the lies and the fiasco during their time as roommates in college. Roland _knew_ , but Arthur just didn’t think Lance had ever really discussed it with his father, even after Roland had called Arthur Lancelot’s ‘fuck of the month.’

Gwen had been the one to tell Roland, Arthur was sure, and that was the one thing he hated about her. Why did she have to cause her brother more pain?

Arthur was actually thankful for the fact that Lance had tried to remain mum, which made him feel like a hypocrit ( _Don’t lie, Artorius!_ ) and gave him nights of stomach-burning insomnia that could only be soothed by the man who’d unwittingly caused it.

_How fucking strange was that?_

They had to be careful about seeing each other now. Arthur had given Lance a key to his loft, just so the other man could come when it was a good time for him, for Lance to be able to see Arthur when he wanted to. He brought Gwen sometimes – although Arthur wasn’t sure why Lance did that, considering how competitive they were for Arthur’s affections.

Arthur loved Gwen. But nothing could compare to the absolute obsession and soul deep connection he had with Lance. Despite that, he missed them both when they weren’t around as much – Lance more so of course, but Gwen had her place in Arthur’s heart as well.

He missed the physicality of their relationship when Lancelot wasn’t there, but in truth he missed the days of just hanging out, going to movies, eating, and talking almost more than he missed the sex.

That was incredibly hard, especially as Arthur didn’t have many close friends, and he’d lost his family long enough ago that he didn’t remember what place they’d filled for him – except for when Lance wasn’t there. _Then_ he felt their loss in spades, and hated himself again for only thinking of them when he was lonely.

When Arthur had announced his decision to go to the academy and join the police force, he hadn’t seen or talked to Lancelot for a week. Arthur had never seen him that angry – his eyes had darkened to black pits, and little spots of color had appeared high on his cheeks. They’d had a spectacular fight about it that had ended with Lance storming out of the loft, slamming the door behind him so hard Arthur had been sure the glass insert would shatter.

He’d been sitting on the couch by the new music system studying a week later when Lance had thrown open the door, typical LA rain having soaked him to the bone – did the man _own_ an umbrella? – crossed the room, and proceeded to fuck Arthur senseless, not saying a word until they were lying in a heap on the floor, Arthur’s coffee table broken and his books scattered haphazardly around them.

“I’m not giving you up,” was the only thing Lancelot had said before burying his face in Arthur’s neck, his arms grasping at Arthur like he would die if he let go.

Arthur knew _he_ would if he let Lance go.

Lance pulled back somewhat from Arthur’s embrace, and Arthur’s knees rose again. He smiled at Lance tiredly and reached out a hand. Lance took it and kissed the palm, his long lashed eyes shutting as he did so.

“Is Guinevere staying?” Arthur asked. Lance shook his head and winked at Arthur, which made him laugh, and then feel bad. 

“No,” Lance answered, still holding Arthur’s hand in his. “She has to go home and change.” The sound of Arthur’s door slamming echoed through the loft just as Lancelot finished speaking, and Lance snorted. “Apparently now.”

“Why?” Arthur said. “I thought she looked beautiful.”

Lance frowned, albeit only slightly, at that. “I … spilled a drink on her. When you were coming up here.”

A laugh burbled out of Arthur, and he smacked Lance’s leg with his free hand. “You’re awful! Why do you treat your own sister so badly?”

“I have no idea what you mean, Arthur,” Lance said innocently, his eyes avoiding Arthur’s. “It was an accident.”

The chuckle still coming out of him – and damned if it didn’t feel _great_ \- Arthur tugged on their joined hands until Lance was laying on Arthur’s raised knees. Lance let go of Arthur’s fingers and wound his arms around Arthur’s thighs as he faced him, smiling a tad less sweetly.

He cocked an eyebrow quickly and Arthur laughed again. Lance smirked. “It’s nice to hear that,” he told Arthur, and kissed his knee, then rested his chin on it.

Arthur ran his fingers over Lancelot’s silk-clad arm. “Where are you going?” He knew Lance was going somewhere too, and probably with Gwen, but he hesitated as he asked.

“Family function. Can’t get out of it,” Lance answered, and Arthur’s mood soured slightly. He wondered when the defining moment would come – when they’d get called out by Lancelot’s family and were hurt or separated permanently. He wondered if one of _them_ would be the cause.

“Don’t,” Lance said.

“Don’t what?” Arthur asked, his mouth still frowning, his eyes downcast. He stared at the covers on his bed. 

Lance sighed audibly and shoved Arthur’s knees apart so he could lay on Arthur’s chest. Arthur’s arms went ‘round him and he lay his cheek on Lance’s hair, breathing in the smell of patchouli and sweat and sun.

Lance slid his hands into the loose pockets of Arthur’s sweatpants. “Just don’t even think about it, alright? We’re managing, right? Nothing’s happened so far.” He pressed his mouth to Arthur’s chest, over the beat of his heart.

_Except for that time in school when your dad…_

Arthur sighed in resignation. “Something will, Lance,” he said, not really wanting to go this direction with the conversation, but once he started, he couldn’t turn his mouth off. “Something else will, and you’ll be gone, for good this time, and I’ll have to – ”

He made an _mffff_ noise as Lancelot leaned over and caught up Arthur’s lips with his own, his hands squeezing Arthur’s hips through his pants gently.

“I’ll never leave you. Not by choice. Stop worrying – your hair’s going grey,” Lance whispered against Arthur’s mouth, his hands releasing Arthur’s hips to rest on Arthur’s chest.

“If it is, it’s your fault,” Arthur smiled back. Lance snorted, and kissed him again, his hand rising to smooth the thick line that marred the skin of Arthur’s forehead with a finger.

“Do you have to go?” Arthur murmured after a time; the sun was setting and Lance was getting antsy, his body slightly tense as he sat up, his hand raking through his hair to return it to some semblance of order.

“I told you, Arthur, I can’t get out of it,” Lance snapped back quickly. He moved off the bed and straightened his clothing, his fingers twirling the platinum ring he wore on his left hand. “Roland would flay me alive if I didn’t show.” He stood in front of the mirror attached to Arthur’s closet, and brushed his hands over his trousers.

“I do have a few obligations outside of you, you know,” he added, the ring on his finger sparkling in the light from the lamp he had turned on, Arthur getting rapidly annoyed by the twitchy movements of Lance’s hands on the heirloom Roland had given him for his birthday a few years back.

Arthur’s face contorted with a fleeting anger and he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t mean for you to think of me as some sort of burden, Lancelot,” he answered, somewhat sharply.

Lance’s shoulders slumped, and he turned back to the bed, where Arthur was beginning to stand.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Lancelot babbled quickly, his expression contrite. “You know how I feel about them. I’m not exactly the … best person when I’m around my family. Or even thinking of them, for that matter.” He crossed to Arthur and slid his arms around Arthur’s neck, kissing him apologetically.

Arthur remained impassive for a moment – he knew when Lance called him stupid names like ‘baby’ or ‘sweets’ that the other man was distracted and worried – so he gave in and kissed Lance back.

“I don’t like you around them,” he said quietly, staring into Lance’s brown eyes that tore him up every time. They were Arthur’s downfall – Lance could be screaming at him or they could be having the worst fight ever, and all Arthur had to do was to look into Lance’s eyes just _once_ , and the fight would be over.

“You turn into someone you’re not,” he went on, his arms finding Lance’s waist. “I know you, love. You’re not your father. You’re mine, my Lancelot,” he shushed the other man, who went to protest at Arthur using his full name, “and you’re so, so much better than that. _This_ is so much more deserving than that.” He touched the skin over Lancelot’s heart with a delicate finger.

Lance sighed in defeat and let his forehead rest on Arthur’s chest. “I love you,” he whispered at last.

Arthur smiled. “I don’t have to answer that, do I?”

Before Lance could smack him or tease him, Arthur kissed him, and drove the pain from his mind that despite his words, despite his belief in the other man –

Lance was still _Lance_ , and still a Benoit.

Arthur crossed the fingers that lay at the small of Lancelot’s back, and prayed fervently for guidance.

*

Bullets whined around him, but he didn’t hear them really, the protective ear coverings keeping his eardrums safe.

Weeks of practice had made Arthur the deadliest shot in his class, and again Captain Hartigan had surprised him by recommending him for a special license to carry firearms that were normally illegal to anyone but police with permits. The captain had been gruff, assuring Arthur he knew that he wouldn’t “shoot your own dick off or anything to make me look stupid,” clapping Arthur on the shoulder in congratulations.

Arthur’s teeth had flashed white in the darkness of the range, the captain rolling his eyes and telling Arthur not to get too excited.

“Special licenses mean you get to do more than the rest of your fellow officers,” Hartigan said, “so be ready to do double the work for the same pay. It’s freaking fantastic. And don’t forget to note the obvious use of sarcasm there, son.”

Arthur had nodded, trying to be calm, but in reality he was as excited as a kid on Christmas.

Taking the earliest train to his loft after class, he rushed up the stairs two at a time, flinging the door open, breathless with happiness and pride, ready to share his news with Lance.

“Arthur,” Gwen cried, not the Benoit he had expected to see. Her face was crumpled and her makeup running all over it, the black mascara sliding down her cheeks and making her look like a teen trying to be Goth.

Arthur jerked, not bothering to shut his door. He moved to her immediately and took her arms in his hands, shaking her slightly to get her to focus.

_Oh God, oh God, please, no. Lord, please don’t take him._

Arthur prayed in his head as he faced Gwen. “What? What is it, Gwen?” 

She sniffled and wiped a hand under her eyes, changing the effect of Goth princess to raccoon. “It’s Lance,” she sighed angrily. “He’s gone and done the _stupidest_ thing!”

_Lord, grant me patience._

“What, Gwen? What’s he done?” His hands moved to her shoulders, shaking her again. He felt cold and lightheaded, his news forgotten.

“He told Roland he wants out of the business. He told him if his being the heir to a ‘bunch of hypocritcal, murderous Godfather knockoffs’ meant he couldn’t be with the people he really loved, then he wouldn’t be part of the family at all,” she spouted in a rush. Her face darkened in anger. “I mean, really. What an ungrateful brat! After all the things my father…” she trailed off when she met Arthur’s eyes, and the horror there.

_Oh, Jesus Christ._

“Where is he?”

Gwen shook her head, her anger fleeing in the face of Arthur’s panic and frantic anger. “Just come with me. I don’t exactly know where he went, but I have an idea. We’ve got to find him.”

Arthur couldn’t agree more. He followed Lancelot’s sister out of the loft, the rain he’d ignored earlier pounding down on them. A short thought, and then he hesitated.

“Guinevere, wait,” he said, and ran back inside.

Running to the bag he’d dropped in the shock of seeing Gwen, he bent over and retrieved his father’s gun from it’s secure place. He stared at it momentarily, then pulled his shoulder holster on, Excalibur sliding into the leather like it had never left.

He threw his bike jacket on, the bulky leather hiding the gun perfectly, and he thundered back down the stairs, Gwen waiting by her Jag.

“Ready.”

They tore off into the rain, Arthur’s eyes slipping closed, the weight of his father’s gun nestled near his heart – the cold steel replacing the normal heat and pumping blood that only Lance’s presence could provide.

They would find him.

They would. 

There was no other choice, for Arthur.

_Something will, Lance. Something else will, and you’ll be gone, and I’ll have to try and exist without you to fill me up._

At that moment, Arthur knew with all his being that that was something he could never do.


End file.
